


Flayed

by KingKiller



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Dinosaurs, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Injury, M/M, Motorcycles, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Raptors, Recovery, Road Trips, Running Away, Sibling Incest, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingKiller/pseuds/KingKiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after.</p><p>Zach feels too fractured.</p><p>("Will we be together forever?" Gray's fingers lace together with Zach's.</p><p>Zach's throat is dray as the Sahara, but he squeezes Gray's fingers until they threaten to break.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flayed

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/Kudos is much appreciated and tells me if you want more!

1

The cot threatens to swallow him whole, the ding of the Coast Rican hospital submerging him. He feels like he is at the bottom ocean trying to peer through the murky waters. The ringing of heart monitors and lisps of Spanish swell over him. Zach fiddles with the scabs that cover his forearms, its like freckles across his skin now--overexposure from the sun. Or dinosaurs rather.

His fingernails dig under another one, he wonders if they will scar as he tears off the scab. It's what he is now, a scarred, bleeding mess that's been sown together by tooth floss.

Does Gray have tooth floss in his little soccer mom waist pouch?

The flutter of his mom's hand over his arm make him look up at her. Her tear encrusted handkerchief feels slimy against his arm, reminds him too much of being in that jungle, feeling the wet slap of post-rain leaves against his skin as he ran on pure adrenaline. Sleep deprived eyes peer so hard into Zach's that he nervously swallows before turning to the FEMA agent.

"Mr. Mitchell, can please review the timeline once more?" the FEMA agent tries again. Face severe and grave at the survivors face of "one of the greatest tragedy since 9/11."

Dad puffs his chest like a raging bull. Eyes seeking out a fight, nose waiting for first blood. Useless in a hospital, "Get out. Please."

Zach slips his eyes close, sleep teasingly winking behind his eyes, as the FEMA agents bustle out of the room, herded by Dad. 

The glint of razor sharp teeth flash in his memory. The hair on the back of his neck raises.

"Where's Gray?" Zach asks. Maybe Gray will show him his pack. Does he have a sewing kit in there? 

Only when he wheels himself, he had left Mom (arguing with the nurses about their room assignments) and Dad (had run off to grab a coffee, Zach had seen the name ASHLEE flash across Dad's phone before he hid it) just knowing, like a ship following a light house into the port. He knew where Gray was.

He proudly rounds the door into the children's ward, arms already cramping and tired. And there's Gray looking small and breakable in cartoon covered scrubs and under fluorescent lights. He's alone in the room, thankfully no children truly hurt on The Island.

The television is playing Dora the Explorer in spanish.

"Hi," Gray's voice is rough and cracks but still betrays his smile. He crunches on another ice cube. Holding out the plastic cup he shakes it in Zach's direction.

"Sup." Zach feels his diaphragm flex to take his first full breathe of air since they left Isla Nublar, Aunt Claire and Owen waving at them from the docks as medical personal corralled them into beds. Zach and Gray had held each other's hands as the boat rocked against the waves.

Reach out for the cup he deftly takes it before knocking all the ice into his mouth. Chewing noisily (and enjoying Gray's obvious disgust at the display) he grabs Gray's hand. Instantly he can already feel his heart slow, calm.

Taking a deep breathe he throws the cup over his shoulder, sure it'll miss the trash can, and steals the remote.

"Let's see if we can find a legit Spanish soap. Where a Hector kills an Emilia, and Emilia sleeps with her long lost twin Juan or something like that." 

"I-Incest?" Gray squeaks.

Zach tries to give him a roguish wink, "It's all about the  _pasión,_ little bro. Need that hint of danger." At Gray's uneasy look he adds, "But I guess if we find a documentary of some sort..."

Gray instantly takes the control back, enthusiastically flipping through channels before finding the Animal Planet documentary about seahorses. 

Zach doesn't mind as he dozes, Gray's hand in his, finally able to rest knowing where he was. Nothing chasing them. It was  _over_.

That night they share a room. And Zach counted the rise and fall of his brother's chest until the world went black.

2

Upon returning home to their quaint little house in a sleepy safe seaport town in Vermont their parents immediately venture deep into the house. In separate directions.

The way Zach sees it is that they finally are cracking after the suffocating silences that had fogged over them all after the adrenaline of dinosaurs and almost dying had worn off and had followed them from being discharged, through the plane ride, and the car ride home. Perhaps Zach, knowing what his own _little_ brother had known before him had finally gotten the clue as he watched Dad slam out the kitchen door to the garage and Mom shuffle into the kitchen tsking about spoiled food and dinner.

Gray and Zach stand despondently in the doorway. Peering around as if they have stumbled into a moment of deja vu. Everything was recognizable but  _off_.

Zach takes in the scratched wood of the stairway, the threadbare coach in the family room, the plastic faces of the family portrait in the hallway. He sees how his guitar and old vinyls had been taken off of the stairwell and how Gray's encyclopedias had been tucked away rather than splayed open on the dinning room table. Even his classic XBox had been corralled into it's "proper" place.

Suddenly Zach has this inexplicable feeling of being a puzzle piece that has just realized he was in the wrong box of puzzle pieces.  

He didn't know where to go...He supposes his room?

Mechanically just as Zach reached down to begin unlacing his snow boats Gray took his hand. Zach let him.

Leading him out the front door, guiding him to settle back into the porch swing Gray jumps on to sit beside him, their thighs touching. Complacently Zach when Gray begins to make the swing sway back and forth Zach helps him until their legs are swinging together in tandem.

Together they swing gently with the wind that skims over the frozen top of snow banks. It had snowed another 5 inches while they were gone.

The chill of winter bits into Zach's cheeks, he lets Gray hug his arm without complaint as he would before The Island as he nuzzles his face into the white scarf Mom had wrapped like a collar around Zach's neck.

They sit there quietly, he took in the gentle sway of the tire swing hanging in the dead tree. He took in the crooked birdhouse that Gray had built in his wood shop class, a ghastly pale yellow reminding Zach of dog piss in fresh snow. He took in the craved words  _ZM + GM WERE HERE,_ the thin scar on his thumb tingled as he remembered how Gray, six and growing, had grinned at him--two front teeth gone, hair honey brown in the peak of summer, as he had craved it into the armrest of the swing. 

Gently he brushes the snow off where it lays, buried. His gloved fingers dance over the carving. They had been so  _young_. 

He didn't feel young anymore.

"I," He chocked on the sudden influx of mucus in his throat, nose burning. Gray turned to look at him, grey eyes somehow quintessentially  _different._  "For a moment, back, back at The Island," he takes a shuddering breathe, "I really didn't think we would come back here."

That realization hadn't come until he had been alone in the hospital, the only thoughts when he was on The Island was to run, fight, and _live, live, live_.

Gray's arms tighten before relaxing again bringing Zach back to the present. Face blank he turned back to icy tundra, so different from the sweltering heat that tried to sink into you skin, boil your blood.

"I didn't either," Gray's words pour out in a dense cloud of condensation, splintering out into the air, 

Zach lets out an ugly sob. Hands gently guide him. And somehow their positions switch, Zach is the one nesting his face into Gray's neck. Where he can feel the pulse of his heart against his cheek.

"Nothing will be the same again," Zach says aloud to nobody, everybody. Gray does nothing but slowly shut his eyes and press back into Zach's desperate hug. Agreeing and disagreeing at the same time.

This is the first time that Zach had cried since the Indominus rexhad almost sunk her teeth in him.  _Into Gray_. 

They don't go in until dinner. Gray's scarf is practically frozen solid.

3

The next morning with his toes freezing in his socks the very first thing Zach does was make a beeline to the coffee pot, pipping hot with Dad's black coffee beside it. Only after pouring in as much creme as he could without overflowing he added two spoonfuls of sugar. Balancing the cup Zach went to sit at the table, skin prickling at his parents stoic silence.

Seeing how stiffly his parents were sitting, tense as if they were about to lunge across the table at each other Zach had a silent moment of mourning knowing they were never going to go back to their normal.

Not like he was normal anymore. Him and Gray were the "Boys-Who-Lived" in a totally uncorny analogy. 

The tension was obvious as Mom and Dad sat as far away from each other as they possibly could. Cautiously he took his first sip of the mix. He sucked his lips in at how sweet the coffee. But he kept drinking, rather than leaving himself to open to conversation.

The awkward silence stretched. The slurp from his next sip echoed in the kitchen.

"Food!" Mom blurted making Zach jump in his seat, knee jerking into the table. His father watched with an unreadable expression as Mom burst from the table like an loaded spring.

"Eggs? Waffles? Pancakes?" Mom rapid fired her questions, hands moving in a harried flutter as she reached for the mason jar full of flour. The pan clanged painfully loud. 

"Stop." Zach knead his fingers into his temple. His mom froze, deer-in-headlights eyes looking at him. "I'm not hungry."

"Zach-" Mom's tone is admonishing, Zach digs is fingers a little deeper into his pressure points. 

"Karen," Dad sharply barks. "He doesn't want it."

Mom's eyes are blazing as she soundly puts the pan back down on the granite before returning to the table.

Zach can feel himself begin to sink against the table, passive aggressive comments flying above his head ("Pass the butter  _please."_ "I am." "Well, how about before it melts?" "Butter can't even melt in the dead center of  _winter,_ Scott.")

A heavy hand falls onto Zach's head, he minutely jerks against the table. His father ignores it.

"Well I'm heading out," A strained smile stretches across his face, eyes pleading for them to absolve his requirement to hover over them anymore. "You understand don't you? Man of the house has got bills to pay."

Clapping Zach's shoulder he twisted his face into an expression he seem to think said "you understand" before walking away. Mom's nails are tapping roughly against the table as Dad troops out of the kitchen. Zach hears on the tail end of his father's exhale, "Already used up all my damn vacation."

Turning back to Mom their eyes meet momentarily, she opens her mouth for a second before snapping her teeth together. Shrugging Zach gets up from the table.

Toast should appease Mom's mother-henning at least.

It's when he's stubbornly crunching on his singed  toast, ignoring Mom's insistence to let her make him another, does Gray come into the kitchen. Feet dragging in his too long flannel bottoms and hands lost in Zach's hand me down high school shirt.

Concern immediately spikes in his stomach, piercing thought the bitter coffee sitting low in his stomach, as Gray dizzily sits in the chair beside him. Head falling to the table with a thunk. Distantly he could hear Mom jumping to her feet, saying something about pancakes.

He wants to comfort Gray, maybe pet his head.

But he's unsure how his touch will be received, the doctors warning words about "post traumatic stress disorder" in the back of his head. It's only when he realize that he's begun to reach out did he freeze.

Awkwardly his hand hung out, in limbo, Gray curled under his frozen hand until Mom placed a dish of fluffy pancakes in front of Gray. Quickly moving his hand away Gray's eye peers out to stare at the food and then Mom.

"Come on, Baby T," their mom's nickname for Gray coming out softly, in a baby's voice, "Got to feed my vicious, little T Rex--"

Abruptly she cuts herself off. There's an impasse. Zach grinds his teeth,  an influx of anger licking the back of his throat because  _how could their own mother be that careless--_  But Gray seems to be waiting for more to be said. Gray shrugs, apparently deciding that she was done. He turns to the food. 

"Thanks," he mutters softly.

And Zach is waiting for his mother's habitual, affectionate fluffing of Gray's hair but she keeps her hands against her chest. She's clutching them as if in prayer. Twisting her fingers she says something about making the beds and then she's marching out of the kitchen.

Gray watches her leave passively before turning to the food. 

Zach is sure the confusion in their interaction is clear in the brow of his face as he deliberately takes a sip of his coffee. Noticing it empty he gets more coffee before settling back at the table again, watching how Gray cuts through the whip cream smiley face on the pancake.

"She's uncomfortable that my hair is turning grey," Gray suddenly announces. Zach looks at him. "The doctors say that it sometimes occurs to people that have lived through 'traumatic experiences' or received a 'great shock'."

Zach moves a little closer, peering at Gray's head. For the first time he begins to see the strands of grey, like stars in the night. He wonders when the doctor had discussed this to Gray and Mom, where had Zach been? Had it been one of the rare times he had been to the bathroom?

"Well," Zach says, tongue scalding hot from the coffee. He says dryly, "I think what we lived through qualifies. And you got that whole Hugh Hefner-eque thing going on now." He tries to waggle his eyebrows, "Silver Fox before thirteen, I like the sound of that."

Gray suddenly giggles, his whole demeanor shedding ten years right in front of Zach's eyes.

"Yeah," Gray gives a tentative smile to Zach. "I guess so."

Gray turns back to his food

"That why you have bags under your eyes," Zach can see how Gray slows to a stop. "The trauma?"

Gray seems to wilt a little, ducking under Zach's eyes. He twiddles with his knife. "I mean. I-I can't really  _sleep_  in my room."

And Zach feels a bit dense, wonders if his parents even thought that far ahead. Of  _fucking_ course Gray couldn't sleep in there with the memorabilia of dinosaurs that stretched from wall to wall in his room. It was like stepping into a memorial for the scaled beasts, because it was and for the Before-Gray had been crazy for everything dino.

An incredible sadness washed over him, he eyes his brother curiously. How would this After-Gray be? Zach didn't know a Gray with his wicked smarts and enthusiasm so strong it make him shake in his sneakers that was  _not_  obsessed with dinosaurs.

He could remember how it all started, when Gray had unwrapped the perfectly wrapped book on Christmas morning 2010 (Zach is sure that her assistant must have wrapped it for her now that he thinks of it) about dinosaurs sent from Aunt Claire. The Jurassic World's logo so clearly stamped across the book.

Zach can now see that Jurassic World and the mystery of Isla Nublar must have sunk its claws into that brilliant little boy so early. Too early, before he had a chance not to fall head over heels over the island. 

Taking in the bags under the eleven year olds eyes and the way he tiredly toyed with his utensils Zach speaks before he can stop himself.

"Well why don't we take a nap?" Zach asks.

Gray skeptically looks at Zach, but curious. "We just woke up, Zach."

"Exactly," Zach tries to look as cheery as possible, knowing it must look strange with the panda eyes he himself is supporting. And the fact he is a very classical/stereotypical teenager with all the angst it entails. "When's the next time we'll ever have the greatest excuse of 'I was almost dinosaur chow' to take advantage and do what we want?"

"That's true." Gray takes a moment before decisively nodding. "Okay."

When Gray goes to take the dishes to the sink Zach stops him, "Leave it. Let Mom keep busy." He was sure she would strike right after they left the kitchen.

Easily Gray acquiesces and Zach guides the tired boy by his shoulder upstairs. He makes sure they breeze by Gray's room, not even pausing until they reach Zach's, which is more spacious and better. Marching Gray towards the bed he can feel Gray's growing uncertainty in the air and before he can let the little genius open his mouth  he tackles him onto the bed.

Gray let's out little shriek as they collapse onto the bed. A tangle of limbs, Gray is trapped in Zach's arms. He makes sure to wind his legs around Gray, realizing he is trapped Gray's body begins squirming like an eel looking for an out.

"Zach!" Gray huffs, "This is uncomfortable!"

"Shh," Zach whispers. "I'm sleeping." He snakes his hands into the Gray's locks, roughly mussing them. But shifts so he is on his back so Gray is trapped on his chest. "Now shut up."

He can hear Gray's annoyed huff, can feel the tentative grin against his chest, through his shirt. "Fine."

Gray pointedly shifts in his "cage," even letting out a little laugh when Zach oof's when his boney elbows dig into his stomach. And then he settles. Already Zach can already feel sleep lulling him to unconsciousness unlike last night. The room is feels less collapsing walls as the sun threads through their shades. In feels so much safer to hear the soft snores, feel the warmth of another body. 

Passingly he thinks of how they never were nothing like this Before. Never this touchy feely, in fact Zach was likely not to see his little brother outside of dinner time.

But that was Before. Not After. And After change was coming over Zach and Gray like an avalanche. Whether they wanted or not.

Zach didn't know if that was good or not.

He fell asleep to counting the silver strands ( _46_ ) on Gray's head before everything went black.


End file.
